


Seance

by Unusual_Raccoon



Category: Arrow (TV 2012)
Genre: Dry Humping, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Ghost Sex, Grief/Mourning, Olicity never happened, Porn With Plot, Porn with Feelings, Post-Canon, Post-Season/Series Finale, Spectre Oliver Queen, Vaginal Fingering, Vaginal Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-21
Updated: 2021-02-21
Packaged: 2021-03-18 17:36:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,890
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29613003
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Unusual_Raccoon/pseuds/Unusual_Raccoon
Summary: When Laurel starts missing Oliver, she never imagined he'd come back to her.
Relationships: Earth-2 Laurel Lance/Oliver Queen
Comments: 6
Kudos: 9





	Seance

**Author's Note:**

> This is an old fic idea I've had for awhile, but I needed to write something...
> 
> Also I was sorta inspired to write this after that scene in the tv show Taboo...you know the one I'm talking about...
> 
> Also also, the show was so stupid (Arrow not Taboo) for making Oliver Spectre and then killing him, sorry but a ghost can't die. So, this fic is a result of my bitterness at the ridiculous writing.

Laurel laid in her bed, her rather spacious bed, the size made all the more apparent when she was the only one occupying it. The vigilante let out a hiss of frustration, throwing off her covers carelessly, letting the sheets drip off of the bed. She was restless of course, it was a side effect of a vigilante’s sleep schedule, but beyond that resided something newer, a fresher more vibrant ache. 

She was lonely. 

Loneliness wasn't an unfamiliar feeling per se, it was just that Laurel had grown spoiled in the past few years. For all her Earth had taken from her, this one had given plenty in return, a cure for her affliction... a cure that resided beneath a green hood. She had relearned what it was to love and to be loved, in no small part thanks to him.

A stubborn lump welled in her throat at the thought of him, at the troubling lack of him beside her in bed. She dug the heels of her palms stubbornly into her eyes, trying to will away the glassy tears that had started to form.

The bastard had left her, left her alone, left this fucking world  _ without  _ her. She tried to swallow the sob that burned like acid in her throat, biting down on her bottom lip until she tasted the metallic sweetness of her own blood. She refused to cry, refused to let herself fall into that endless abyss of grief. The hilarity of the situation was that she had lost him once before, she knew the agony of living a life without Oliver Queen, and had foolishly believed she’d never had to know that feeling again.

Sitting up in their bed,  _ her _ bed, it was just hers now, Laurel sniffled as she exasperatedly ran her hands through her short hair. As much as she hated him for leaving her, Laurel would’ve given anything to be with him. Now all she had was pain, a pain so blinding and overwhelming that it made her want to  _ scream _ .

Laurel squirmed across the bed, clutching at Oliver’s pillow, or she supposed the pillow that used to be his. Her eyes burned as she blinked away the hot tears while she wrapped her body around the pillow. Nosing at the fabric of the pillowcase, she had refused to wash the thing in the hopes of preserving some of the scent of him where it lingered on the surface.

A grateful sigh left her lips at the faint musk of his sweat and sweetness of his cologne that greeted her when took a deep breath through the fabric. It smelled like him, it was beautiful and terrible, conjuring memories too sweet to contemplate. Laurel muffled a cry against the pillow, stubbornly breathing in the scent until she could imagine him beside her; warm and solid rather than the soft malleable memory foam she actually held.

Laurel smothered another wet sniffle as she wriggled her hips, pinching the pillow between her knees to work the seam of it between her thighs. It was reprehensible, but she just wanted the pain to stop...even if it was just for a little while.

She rocked against the pillow experimentally, feeling shame and disgust curdle in her stomach. It didn’t objectively feel bad, she supposed what felt so filthy was the notion of tarnishing one of the last reminders she had of the man she loved. But not even her plentiful self-loathing could rival the desperation that resided in her. She needed to feel something, she needed to feel him, and it was insane, but some nights she swore she could.

Laurel scrunched her face up, eyes screwed shut and mouth pinched as she returned to the task. The scent helped, drinking in the muted notes of his cologne, the vague mintiness of his shampoo, the musky salty tang of sweat…

She rolled her hips again, trying to find a rhythm as she breathed him in. The stimulation tingled pleasantly between her thighs, muted through the cotton of her underwear. Still, she persisted, humping the pillow until the steady grind of her hips became more fluid, less restrained, and her underwear grew damp from the friction.

Laurel sucked in a shallow breath feeling a frustratingly small flicker of heat in her belly as a result of her efforts.

The pillow grew warm, drinking up her body heat in a way that made her fantasy easier to imagine. Heat quivered in her stomach, glowing like an ember threatening to just as easily fizzle out or start a fire. She bit at the plush corner, willing the fabric in her mouth to be his warm skin, as she continued to rock against the pillow.

The grind was pleasant, feeling the vague firmness between pushing against her dampened underwear, wet with her pitiful arousal. Laurel licked her lips as she tried to imagine the width of his thigh between her legs. Her want blossomed, slickness growing more abundantly as she envisioned the clever crook of his smile, the electric rumble of his encouraging praise.

“Dammit, Ollie…” She hissed in a whisper, rocking more fervently in an attempt to find her release. It felt good,  _ he _ felt good, she reminded herself.

Laurel huffed out a frustrated moan, feeling the muted, sticky friction as she rubbed her covered sex against the pillow.

She slowed, heart pounding and sex throbbing for some stimulation beyond the edge of this pillow. Catching her breath, Laurel tried not to think of the dredges of shame that threatened to creep in on her once more. Blinking in the darkness, her eyes adjusted to the room for a moment. She sucked in a shaky breath, prepared to resume the hungry canter of her hips. 

Slinging a leg across the pillow, awkwardly straddling the width of it, attempting to steady herself with a hand on the headboard like she was riding a bull, lips trembling at the ghost of warmth across the back of her neck. Fuck, it was like he was there, like he was with her. Driving her hips down desperately against the pillow, she allowed herself to be swallowed up by her fantasy, swearing she could feel the brace of his palms against her hips, the weight of his cock between her legs. On some nights Laurel even thought she could hear the sound of her name rasped by a breeze that sounded like his voice.

“Don’t stop…” A voice said in a husky whisper.  _ That _ wasn’t the wind.

Laurel felt her blood run cold, the canter of her hips slowing to a horrified halt. Turning her head, split lower lip trembling to find the source of the sound. A moan falling from her lips as the feeling returned, the phantom clasp of palms against her hips, urging her onward when she couldn’t.

It couldn’t be possible.

“Oliver?” Laurel asked in a barely audible whisper, voice quivering with the resurfacing tide of grief. Her heart hammering when she was greeted with a maddening stretch of silence, Laurel wasn’t sure what she expected, but she certainly never could’ve anticipated what came next.

A figure suddenly seemed to melt into reality, giving off an ethereal glow where he stood bathed in the silver moonlight that bled in between the blinds. The light caught on his milky skin, he was pale, paler than she remembered, the shadows of his face seeming stark and ghoulish, even the blue of his eyes seemed almost green. He looked foreign, like himself yet infinitely different. Beneath it all though, he was him, the man she had lost...Oliver Jonas Queen.

She must’ve been hallucinating…

Laurel held her breath as the shadow lurched closer with a curious tilt of his hooded head that was startlingly familiar. She attempted to lick her lips, her tongue felt rubbery and clumsy where poked out of her suddenly dry mouth.

“Ollie…” She whispered breathlessly, her hand clutched over her heart as he drifted closer. There was a fond expression twinkling in his eyes as he drew up beside her bed,  _ their  _ bed.

“I don’t - how?” Laurel stammered in confusion, “How are you here?” She asked in exasperation. Her stomach clenched as he joined her on the bed, not nearly close enough for her liking.

“I never left.” Oliver murmured in a quiet rumble, though Laurel would certainly beg to differ. Never left? She had been to his damned funeral. She had watched as they erected that fucking statue in his honor. If nothing else her formerly empty bed would certainly disagree. His features softened knowingly at her wounded glare.

Oliver gave an apologetic smile, a single hand coming up to cup her cheek and Laurel instantly melted into the familiar touch. Damn, that felt good.

“I’ve been...in between.” He explained, palm still stroking fondly over her cheek, as though the contact sustained him - like oxygen feeding a fire.

“But I’ve tried to  _ visit _ as often as I could.”

Laurel felt her cheeks burn hotly at the implication. He’d been visiting… all the heady tingles along her skin in her darkest moments and phantom whispers filling her mind, it hadn’t been her grief-addled imagination, it had been him. It had always been him. Suddenly her face wasn’t the only thing throbbing with warmth. She could feel a blush growing between her legs, reigniting that heat that had previously plagued her.

“I’ve tried to be here for you.” He continued in a ragged whisper that sent shivers careening down her spine. The ‘here’ suddenly became all that more understandable when he was seated on their bed with her.

“With you.” Oliver rumbled in a low staticky growl that had Laurel lurching forward, scrambling across their bed to invade the space that existed between them. Her hungry hands plunged beneath the familiar fabric of that green canvas hood. She took his face into her hands, her whole word cradled between her palms. His skin felt cold as ice, but more aptly like dry ice, because the longer she touched him, the more she burned.

“I need you with me, now.” Laurel demanded with a moan, feeling one of those cold hands sink lower to squeeze at her breast through the cotton t-shirt she had worn to bed. Electric icy fingers teasing a nipple through the fabric of her shirt, rolling the bud between a coarse thumb and forefinger until she arched hungrily into his palm, eagerly pulling his lips to hers. Oliver greedily swallowed the small undignified noises she let out, noises she only made for him.

Laurel gasped at the otherworldly tingle of his lips and beard rasping against her skin, down her chin, across her neck. After weeks without this, without him, Laurel felt her entire body ache with a vibrant need. 

“And here I thought seeing me like this would be overwhelming for you.” Oliver chuckled against her throat, the hand groping her chest diving lower, inching towards the soaked crotch of her underwear.

“It is.” Laurel hissed between her teeth, her hips rocking to meet the width of his fingers. The wounds of her grief were still bloody and raw, but somehow he still soothed the sting, running his icy lips over the marred flesh until the proverbial bleeding stopped. Another part of her was dripping too, her centre weeping a want only her Oliver ever seemed able to quench. A shiver rippled through her like a charge of electricity when she felt his knowing fingers dip teasingly against the wet fabric of her underwear.

“I can see.” Oliver hummed with a smile warmer than the sun, she thinks.

“Ollie.” Laurel hissed, mussed white blonde curls hung in her eyes where she began to twitch against his hand, eager to ride those clever fingers harder than she had his pillow.

When a hand urged her down onto the bed, head falling onto the pillow she had previously been humping, her cheeks grew warm yet Laurel went without question. It was Ollie for goodness sakes, if there was anyone who knew how to get all of her cylinders firing, it was him - even in death, even like this.

She could smell herself on the pillow now, more potently even than the scent of him that she had previously been clinging to for dear life. It was heady, the scents of them mingled, hers so fresh, so new and alive, and his so decayed...so dead. Laurel felt something pull tightly behind her chest as she desperately clutched at the pillow, even as Oliver’s fingers gently shimmied down her underwear. The black fabric slipped down to catch at her knees, exposing her dripping core.

Laurel gasped at the icy drag of his fingers along her slit, tears welling in her eyes as she glimpsed that familiar grin beneath the shadow of his hood.

“God, I missed this.” She heard him rumble, a sob working it’s way up her throat, so did she. She’d missed it so much, missed him so much. Missed him more than she thought humanly possible to miss another person. Yet here they were, two ghosts.

His lips lingered on her damp cheeks, worry etched into the ghastly pale features of his face.

“Do you want me to stop?” Oliver asked patiently, lips wet with her tears. And Laurel felt another sob wrack her at the thought alone.

“No, please,” She stammered, words cracking past the lump that had formed in her throat, “Please, don’t - never stop.” Then she was clutching at the tattered green fabric of his sleeve, desperate to keep him with her. She couldn’t stomach the thought of him leaving her, couldn’t imagine the thought of enduring another existence without his touch.

Oliver leveled her with a knowing look, the kind that she was grateful for, that look usually meant he understood what she needed without Laurel having to slog through trying to articulate her damn complicated feelings. Another sound tore from her chest, this one far from pained as two wicked fingers had nudged their way inside of her. The pleasant burn of his fingers inside of her was joined by the clever twirl of his thumb over her clit, it was incredible. The feeling churning in her stomach shimmered like firecrackers after weeks of nothingness, weeks of humping a fucking pillow, Oliver felt divine.

It wasn’t rough, not like those sticky romps they would often share after a busy patrol when they were still glowing with adrenaline. His touch was purposeful and knowing, crooking his fingers just right, applying the perfect pressure until her eyes were wet and hips were trembling. Touching her until her whole body was singing for him. Laurel was gasping and breathless, body bowed up off of the bed to meet the keen plunge of his fingers. He pushed in again and again, gently stroking that blessed rough patch, not jabbing at it cruelly. The touch of his fingers was almost tickling, massaging the sensitive gland expertly until Laurel was shaking, thighs, hips, shoulders, all of her quivering like she was experiencing her own little earthquake and at the epicenter were his fingers.

“Ollie-” Laurel cried out, chest heaving where she collapsed back against his -  _ their  _ pillow. When she meets his gaze Laurel feels the last of her breath leave her in a shaky exhale at the simmering green fire residing in his typically blue eyes. It’s unusual, it's haunting, it’s extraordinary, like he’s watching magic, like he’s watching her soul free her body as she comes undone around those talented fingers of his.

“Please,” She whispered hoarsely, ushering him to the place she needs him most keenly, thighs parting without hesitation, “Please I need  _ you _ .” Laurel trembled, feeling the aftershocks of her earthquake as Oliver withdrew his fingers, heat, wetness, life glinting on the length of those clever digits.

Oliver nods at her, glowing eyes wet when suddenly the tattered green remains of his robe vanish, baring that beautiful familiar body to her eyes. He looks like himself, all hard muscle and harder scars. His pale body looks carved from marble, but she loves it, loves him just the same as she had when he was alive.

Laurel shivers in anticipation as he crawls between her thighs, elegant and predatory like some jungle cat. She raised her legs, locking them around his waist, desperate to hold him to her in vain, but desperate nonetheless. Trying to hold a ghost, it was like trying to catch lightning in a bottle, it was fleeting and dangerous and she’d probably end up hurting...but maybe the pain was worth the pleasure.

Oliver dipped his head down to meet hers, his lips equally starved when they found hers. Broad icy electric hands cradled her like she was spun out of glass, fingers tangling in the mess of white blonde curls as he patiently found his home inside of her. Laurel gasped, feeling lightning flow through him into her, like a conduit for power she didn’t understand. Her sonic scream tickling at the back of her throat as she peered up into the glowing green embers of his eyes. Perhaps her soul had fled her body earlier, likely because it had found it’s other half.

Then Oliver rolled his hips, sending that tingle of electricity skittering through her very being, that sensation kissing every nerve, every cell. 

He found his rhythm, it was purposeful, powerful. With every hot glide inside of her, the feeling of him so potent it felt like it was tearing her open, splitting her in two until he freed her beating heart from it’s cage inside of her chest. Grief was a fickle thing though, because as Laurel gasped and writhed to meet his every thrust, she supposed he could keep it her heart when he found it, considering it had always been his when he was alive.

Laurel bucked against the blessed pleasure he sparked between her legs, arms thrown around his neck and legs locked around his waist. She digs her nails into him, feeling the give of his flesh, feeling his corporeality. Her ghost.

Oliver’s lips were insistent and loving when he kissed her, gentle to match the slow, tortuous pace he assumed inside of her. It’s beauty, it’s magic, feeling him surging into her, unhurried and hungry.

Laurel arched into him, into the plunge of his cock into her core, spreading her open, making her ache so beautifully. She gasped, struggling to breathe like she’s dying, and she’s dripping, want flowing from the gash between her thighs like an open wound. So she locked her legs around him more tightly, uncompromising and unyielding. She wouldn’t give him up, she couldn’t…

Each thrust felt like it came close to nudging the bothersome lump that had grown in her throat, the pleasure toed that precarious line that bordered on pain - so much pain. Oliver’s elbows dug into the pillow on either side of her head, then his hands were holding her once more. Large palms cradling her face, those glowing green eyes were ablaze, overflowing with love and tenderness. His lips kissing away her tears once more, dipping down to smear her mouth in her own heartbreak.

“I need you here,” Oliver whispered against her mouth, a smile pulled at his lips as Laurel attempted a nod, “Need you here with me.” Oliver pleaded, but Laurel understood what he was asking for. In a few hours time this little haunting of his would be over and then Laurel would be left back where she had started. He needed her here, in the present, ‘make hay while the sun was shining’ type of thing.

“Always.” Laurel croaked, mouth falling open with a shuddered sigh as Oliver rolled his hips cleverly, stealing what breath lingered in her lungs.

“Forever.” Oliver added with a heart-wrenching sincerity.   
  


When he pushed into her again, slow and purposeful, Laurel shuddered, feeling him stoke that fire burning in her belly. She clung to him in earnest, walls flexing around the glorious intrusion of him, electric and icy where he filled her.

She thrashed, bucking up wildly, impatiently to meet the grind of his hips, hissing between her teeth like an active volcano when Oliver’s palm caught her hip to slow her. It was agonizing and resplendent, forcing her to savor this moment. Laurel huffed out a breath, following the pace he set, moving in time with him, simmering under each pointed plunge of his cock into her.

Oliver purred a contented sound against her throat, warm and appraising as he continued their pace. The pleasant vibration tingled throughout her entire body, buzzing down to her curled toes and up to her erect nipples.

Laurel crooned gently, her fingers rising up to tangle into his hair at the earthen sort of growl Oliver rumbled into her ear. His cock filled her up, pushing in and pulling out, stimulating every nerve ending, making her innards glow. It felt like she was taking part in a symphony and he was the conductor.

“Just like that,” Laurel gasped, lips tingling where they rasped against his facial hair, her hips rolling up to meet his.

“Oh, god, Oliver,” Laurel keened, head thrown back against the pillow, pleasure swelling unbearably at the point of their union. Sweat shimmered on her skin, gathering at the back of her neck, beneath her breasts, against the toned stretch of her abdomen.

“I’m almost-” He snarled with glowing green eyes, each measured thrust finding that spot inside of her that made her quake.

“Oh fuck, Ollie,” Laurel groaned, feeling her thighs shake and abs clench tightly where bowed up off of the bed to meet him. Her skin burning and tingling where her torso pressed to his.

“Inside me,” Laurel panted against his ear, feeling every muscle in his body tense, his back straighter than steel as he found his release inside of her with an ethereal exhale. Laurel twitched and writhed, hissing a grateful sound between her teeth as his finish flooded her. The tactile feeling so powerful and potent pushing her beyond that precipice into that bottomless feeling of bliss. Her orgasm was rewarding and cresting upon her like a wave, pulling her under into that dark glittering weightlessness.

Laurel blinked after a moment, her senses finally returning to her, one by one. Sharing each ragged exhale with her lover where he laid atop her. Staring up at Oliver, Laurel felt her heart squeeze behind her ribs at the sight of his eyes...his warm blue eyes.

They settled down onto the bed after a little while, tangled up in one another. Laurel was content running her fingers through his hair, feeling the cadence of his breathing, the pleased purrs he emitted.

“Will you be here in the morning?” Laurel asked, she wasn’t sure why, knowing certain inquiries would only result in pain. By the look of Oliver’s wince she knew what she was in store for.

“No…” He whispered honestly, blue eyes corrupted by that spitting green fire.

“But I’ll come back to you...always.” Oliver murmured, carefully taking her hand in his, lifting it to his lips. She shivered at the icy tingle it sent through her. 

“Good.” Laurel hummed with a sad smile. It wasn’t perfect, but she supposed, this was the best she could hope for. Being haunted never sounded so damned good.

  
  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> My monkey brain can only focus on smut apparently. Definitely made myself cry by listening to Work Song by Hozier while writing this.
> 
> If you did enjoy the fic, please don't hesitate to leave a comment, I do love to hear what my readers have to say.


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